


The Heirs of Westeros

by highvalyrian



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Game of Thrones Spoilers, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-03-07 15:33:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18876052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highvalyrian/pseuds/highvalyrian
Summary: In the high halls of Winterfell, secrets are revealed. Though on the cusp of disaster, from the Army of the Dead to ambitious, long-sought goals, previous plans are interrupted when new truths come out. Families are broken, while new ones are forged from the pieces amidst the ground. Powerful alliances are made, while older ones are broken. The kingdoms of Westeros have gone from singed the burned, and a new life leads to new emerging issues.Based upon the series Game of Thrones by HBO, as well as plots and characters from A Song of Ice and Fire by George R.R. Martin.





	1. ARYA I

It took every muscle in her body to refrain from moving closer to Jon and his horse, though anxiety and temptation drove her fingers to twitch unevenly by her side. She was supposed to be standing with Bran and Sansa and the others, but Arya couldn't wait to see her brother finally return after years of being apart.

Something in her body stirred as she saw another familiar face come closer. Sandor Clegane stood rigid on horseback, his eyes looking forward and not at her, thankfully. Arya's shoulders caved in, almost reflexively, as she allowed herself to be hidden from his sight. The Hound made it past her quick enough, and finally, she could see her brother's curled dark hair in the crowd of soldiers.

Jon looked different from when they last saw each other. Instead of the thick matting of short, curled black hair on his head, it was long and wrapped into a bun similar to her own. Nonetheless, a ghost of a smile traced overhead face as she finally saw his face. He was the same Jon from years ago, that she knew, but something about him seemed  _off_. Arya couldn't pin what it was just from looking at him, so she mentally made a note to speak with him later.

Taking a look to his side, she saw the Dragon Queen. Sansa had gossiped about her after reading the letter Jon sent, writing about their arrival, but Arya noticed the real her just then. Her hair was long and braided behind her back, just as she had remembered their septa describe the Dothraki in Essos. Arya saw a few of the warriors herself as they rode on horses by their queen, and realized the similarities they had.

As they passed, Arya deflated from the realization that Jon never saw her. The snow below her sank as pressure fell to her feet. Her only reason for not walking away was to see her final ally arrive at her home: Gendry.

His hair was short and he looked more padded than before. Instead of seeing him glistening from the sweat of hard work, he was almost red with cold. She smiled slightly and a flutter filled her chest. It was strange, she thought, but a welcome feeling.

As soon as they passed, Arya slithered our from the crowd, she wasn't planning on going to her sister, but instead to her own chambers where she kept her assortment of faces, blades, and thoughts.

She pushed past the crowd but was stopped by a gruff-looking man. "Where d'you think you're going?" His voice was heavy with an accent, similar to the smallfolk she'd met in King's Landing during her time there.

"To my chambers," she said with a quirk of her eyebrow. "I live in Winterfell."

"No, you don't." She could hear a slight slur to his voice.  _He's drunk._ "I never told you to leave."

"You don't tell me what to do. I'm Arya Stark."

He let out a roar of laughter before gripping her shoulder with a rough, calloused hand. "Your princess of Winterfell can't help you here. You're my daughter, now come on." He attempted to grab her clothes and drag her, but couldn't curl his fingers too far as her armor was thick. "When did you start wearing this?"

She reached with her hand to the dagger that rested at her side. It clicked out of the sheath with a satisfying snap and, in one swift motion, it lay under the man's chin. His hand loosened on Arya's clothes as the blade drew close. She heard a few screams and gasps from her side, while other voices murmured in awe of the soldiers that marched on the pathway.

"The girl's got a sword!" Some voice shouted, female. Arya turned to see women shielding their children away, while brutish men growled and pushed their ways to the other. 

A man pushed into her sight. "Put it down and listen to your father."

It seemed as if a crowd was forming around her. Arya wasn't overwhelming, she had dealt with worse, surely, but with all the soldiers marching behind her (the rhythmic thump on the ground made her ears pained) and the awful smells of the peasant folk, she sheathed the dagger and made a run through a small parting.

"That's m'daughter!" the same man from before screamed. A few voices chimed in behind him, but while some people reached to stop her sprint Arya managed to slip past them. It was all too sudden for her to be standing at a flowing stream in the back of the woods, seeing the faintest line of Winterfell in the distance.

She didn't realize how far from the castle she was when Jon came, but the smoke from the kitchens was barely visible from where she stood. Winter town was a strange place, but Arya had come to explore its forests since she was a child. When she glanced down at the water flowing by her side, it was almost as if she could picture the sweet memories of the place.

Her home is the North, as it was and always would be, though she had many hopes to explore the world ever since she was a child. Her dreams often were of adventures across the Sunset Sea, a crew of brave men and women that served her, and finally, find what was west of Westeros.

No man had ever done it before, but she was no man.

It took her until dusk to reach her home, though she wasn't planning on arriving there fast. The only reason she wanted to go to her chambers was to hide her maps, pick up any stray weapons, and make sure her faces were safely hidden away. If she were to speak with Jon and he saw what she had, Arya feared his reaction would be far from positive.

The guards let her through the Hunter's Gate, and she was glad Sansa's talk had given them a lesson as to who belonged in the castle and who didn't. As she made her way into the courtyard, Arya noticed how very few of Daenerys's soldiers remained. She supposed they had left for the tents built outside of Winterfell's walls, where she thankfully made her way around as she came to the castle walking close to the wall, making sure she did not interfere with the soldiers on her way.

The feeling of being inside the castle made her feel safe and warm. It was as if the ghosts of her mother and father both watched over her, perhaps even Robb and Rickon stood with them in the shadows. As she found her way to her chambers, Arya noticed the emptiness that filled the halls. Something seemed ominous as frost trickled through the cracks of the stones. Her eyes narrowed, yet she entered the chambers with a quick yet quiet close of her door.  _Quiet as a shadow._

A mess of maps, weapon designs, and other papers lay scrambled on the desk in the middle of her room. In an attempt to organize it all, Arya grouped them together and shoved them into a drawer, no care placed on their condition as they were forced in. As she took one quick look around the room, no stray weapons or faces lay hanging around. A sigh of relief escaped her mouth, reopening the door and taking her leave. Now she needed to find Jon.

She didn't know where he could be. Entering the courtyard, Arya spotted Bran sitting in his wheelchair. A brief flash of comfort flashed over her eyes as she walked closer until she looked up to match his gaze and spotted Sansa speaking with Tyrion. "Bran," she asked calmly, her voice coming out lower than she expected. He didn't look to her and instead watched carefully the two on the bridge.

"They haven't seen each other since Joffrey's wedding," he replied with a cool tone of voice.

Arya wasn't sure how to respond. "I need to know where Jon is."

"The godswood." Bran turned his head to momentarily view her. "He's upset you weren't there to greet him with the rest of us."

"I had a feeling." As she spoke, Bran's head continued to gaze back up at the two. Arya noticed the space Tyrion gave her sister as they spoke. When he moved closer, Sansa took a step back, though it was careful and precise and she wasn't sure if it was out of fear or pain from repressed memories. "Why are you watching them?"

"I had a vision," he said solemnly. As silence followed, Arya feared she would get no other answer. She thanked him quietly for his help in her quest to find Jon and left promptly without another word. The last thing she saw in the courtyard was her sister walk away from Tyrion's direction, and the dwarf gaze down carefully to her brother.

She knew her way around the castle like it was a part of her, just as Syrio Forrel taught her a sword should be.  _Part of my arm_ , she thought.  _Can I drop part of my arm?_ The godswood was no different. Weaving through trees and small ponds, she finally found Jon standing by the heart tree in silent prayer, perhaps.

He didn't hear her enter, and so to get his attention she spoke up. "I'm sorry I didn't get to see you before, with the others."

Jon turned abruptly, a tense edge to his stance. "Gods," he muttered. "How'd you sneak up on me like that?"

"Practice." Her response trailed off towards the end as she remembered her training in Braavos with the Faceless Men, as well as her training with Syrio. As they stood in silence, Arya finally broke free from her past thoughts and a smile gave way on her face. She remembered Needle, Jon's departure from Winterfell as he went to join the Night's Watch with Uncle Benjen, and the dreams she had of their reunion. She jumped up into his arms, allowing him to press her close as they hugged.

She had her brother back. Jon was finally home.

"I missed you," he whispered. Jon let her go and Arya stepped back to look at him again. Still, something felt strange and different about his presence. Something didn't feel...  _Jon_. "We have a lot to catch up on."

"Aye," she murmured, deep in thought. "How was the Night's Watch?"

He glanced to his right as he replied. "Good." When he glanced back at her, Arya raised an eyebrow. "I enjoyed my time there."

"I'm sure you did." Arya smiled. Her voice was genuine, though she could read the lies he told as he spoke. "I'm just glad you're home."

He smiled, looking down to her side. "And you still have it." She followed his gaze towards Needle, which rested at her side in its sheath.

"I've always kept it by my side." Though she remembered vividly when she lost it and tensed at the thought. "It reminded me of you."

He smiled, the cold air making the breath from his nose visible. They remained silent, comfortably remaining in each other's presence. "We're finally all back together," he said sadly. Arya could tell he was thinking of Robb and Rickon, the youngest Stark son whom nobody spent enough time with before his death.

"It looked much nicer here before your Dragon Queen arrived," Arya admitted. 

"The North isn't always filled with dragons and screaming civilians?" When he laughed, Arya followed. His border of ice was breaking with her beside him, and she felt a pinch of sympathy for him. Jon's heart would be the death of him, and it was a sad truth she couldn't forget.

She finally quieted herself. "I haven't met your queen yet, but Sansa doesn't trust her."

"Our sister tends to overthink situations."

Arya frowned. "I trust Sansa with my life." She was sad to see his face fall. "If she doesn't trust her, I can't either."

"Perhaps you just need to speak with her. Daenerys would be delighted to meet you." Arya glanced down at her feet, then up at the sky to see the moon peeking its way up from the sunset-tinted sky.

Then, with a reluctant nod, she said, "Where is she?"

Jon led her from the godswood and into the Great Keep. On their way, Arya's hands twitched by the hilt of her dagger. She could feel the heat of the Dragon Queen's room, the fire that had emitted from the lairs of the dragon before she even walked inside.


	2. TYRION I

A cold breeze parted its way through the bridge between the armory and the Great Keep. Although he was beginning to adjust to the different climate, a series of shivers ran along his arms. His legs were tight and hurting, so Tyrion needed to get inside.

After his talk with Sansa, he wasn't in the mood to converse with others. Seeing as she had left towards the Great Keep, he followed with as quick of movements as he could. A sharp pain twisted up his right leg, the cold making his knees stiff and joints pop as he took any step forward. Tyrion let out a curse, yet persisted down the hallways of Winterfell's largest keep and towards his chambers.

"My lord." Tyrion turned his head to look behind as a figure emerged from the bridge and into the building. He couldn't recall his name, but due to the extensive white fabrics he wore around his body, Tyrion could tell it was a highborn lord.

When the Lannister dipped his head respectfully, he pressed his left hand against the wall to take the pressure off his legs. "My lord."

When the man took a few steps closer, Tyrion remembered who he was at the sight of his size and stature. Besides, he was the man who spoke to Sansa before he came to her. "Lord Royce," he added quickly, "my apologies, I could not make out who you were in the distance."

"Perhaps you need a pair of Myrish lenses then." Tyrion let out a small chuckle, while Yohn Royce did not even smile. "I noticed Lady Sansa walk off in a rush after your conversation ended."

"You were watching us?"

He didn't answer Tyrion's question. "My lady is doing everything in her power to keep the North safe from harm. Although her brother brought in his Dragon Queen, she is not putting down her goals. I believe it is in the best interest of her, as well as the other Northern lords, for you to not attempt to sway her opinions."

Tyrion frowned, sliding his hand down from off the stone wall. He couldn't bring himself to look directly into Royce's eyes. "And it is not in  _my_  best interests to change Lady Sansa's mind. I only wished to speak with her after years apart. The last time I spoke with her, she was my wife."

"Yes, well, not anymore." His voice was gruff. "Our lady is far too busy to deal with former husbands and determined suitors."

Tyrion couldn't tell if Royce's thoughts on Sansa came from a fatherly view, almost making up for Lord Eddard's absence, or if they were romantic. He flinched. "If she really was too busy, she wouldn't have taken the time to speak with me." He said it more to ease his own consciousness.

He sighed. "I don't know why she did speak to you. Though all the Northern lords feel suspicious towards your queen, she distrusts her the most. I suppose you're lucky in that you have a relationship with her. I'm sure if she didn't know you were coming, tensions would have been much worse."

It was pleasant to know Sansa felt comforted by his arrival. He could feel a small warmth on his cheeks but wasn't sure if it was from the numbing sensation of the cold wind blowing from outside, or the thoughts that filled his head. Tyrion didn't reply, and after a moment of silence between the two, Lord Royce moved away, turning back and walking towards the armory.

His white cloak, tipped with rune designs, flipped behind him as if it were a bird struggling to fly in the wind. Tyrion watched and waited until he disappeared across the bridge, leaving himself to his thoughts. Although he did want Sansa to trust his queen, his motives weren't meant to corrupt her. Slowly, Tyrion kept his hand on the wall as he shuffled along down the hallway. He had no destination in mind, but he assumed his chambers would be close by.

Peeking into the open rooms, he could tell the keep had been scarcely used in some areas. Most of the exposed chambers lay barren, with the exception of a bed, a table, and a chair. Tyrion took a moment to glance inside, although he didn't know whose room it was.

The furs on the bed were neatly arranged, almost as if they hadn't been used, though on the desk were scattered and messy papers of maps and drawings of weapon designs. In the top corner of the desk, he stepped closer to find a wooden carving of a grey direwolf. He raised an eyebrow curiously, making his way over to pick up the object in his hand. Its eyes were golden and sharp fangs were carved onto its mouth.

"This was Robb's room." Sansa's voice caught him off guard and his fingers tightened around the object as he turned sharply. She came from an angle as if she was walking towards the bridge. "It's Grey Wind, his direwolf." She beckoned with her head towards the wooden creature.

Slowly, he placed it back on the desk. "Jon's direwolf was a runt, and he's a giant beast. I wonder how large your brother's would have been."

"I've always wanted to see Lady grown up," Sansa said with a faint smile gracing her lips. "Her life was cut short by your sister."

"We always seem to land back at Cersei whenever we talk." Both of them let out soft breaths of laughter, and Tyrion took the chance to glance at the maps. "If it weren't for my brother's cruel plans, your brother might have become king of Westeros."

"He wouldn't have wanted it," she muttered with a dry voice. "Robb was a good man, but he fought for an independent North, not the seven kingdoms."

"And vengeance too, I suppose." Tyrion glanced up to study her reaction, seeing no signs of a warning to stop. "For your father, I mean."

Sansa stepped into the room, glancing around nervously. It was almost as if she was scared one wrong touch, one wrong step, would harm her. "I miss him." Tyrion didn't know if she meant her father, Robb, or both.

"Robb seemed to be a nice man. I only met him once when telling him of a saddle for Bran. He was a fit ruler, though I'm not sure he liked me too much."

"I'm sure he had his reasons," she murmured. "We Starks don't trust the Lannisters after what they've done."

Tyrion felt guilty, though he wasn't sure why. "Your mother drove that into my head when she took me as her prisoner." Though his voice did have a light tone, he remembered the tenuous journey they went on, the threat of death looming over him at every moment, and the wretched mountain tribes they struggled against. "I can see why, though."

He began to walk towards the door. "I apologize for entering the room, my lady. I didn't realize it was your brother's. If you'll excuse me, I'll go find my own chambers."

When he passed her and moved down the hall, she called out to him. "Tyrion." He turned back, feeling a sharp pain rise throughout his lower body. "People try to tell me how similar you are to the other Lannisters, your family." He swallowed thickly in anticipation for what she was going to say. "I always tell them the same thing. You're not like the other Lannisters." In a hurry, Sansa finished her sentence and continued off towards the bridge. He was left standing in his spot, a warmth filling the inside of his chest.

Tyrion waited for a few moments for his leg pain and skipping heart to subside before continuing his walk down the Great Keep. It seemed empty, though Tyrion could almost feel all the commotion that used to occur in the halls. The noise he believed was there made his head start to turn, to make shapes morph into the thin of the air. Lordly men glanced down at him like he was some child, while women in long and thick furs grabbed the hands of children and walked them through the hallway. The sights were overwhelming him, and Tyrion pressed his hand on the wall to lean against the cold stone. Moans and cries of ghosts were all that could be heard in his head, and he pressed his free palm to his temple to dig it in circles, hoping to soothe the pain.

Almost as quickly as it came, it stopped. Whatever he thought he heard, he didn't. The figures of old Stark ghosts were nonexistent, and Tyrion squinted as he readjusted to the fire flickering along the hall.  _Seven hells_ , he thought.

A group of Unsullied guards suddenly came marching down from the hallway towards the bridge. Grey Worm stood in the back, commanding his troops in such a fast pace of Valyrian the Lannister couldn't keep up. "What's going on?" He could see the movements of the troops to be quick, with spears held out and causing Tyrion to back up against the wall.

"Something has been spotted beyond the gate." Grey Worm didn't look down to meet Tyrion's gaze. "Daenerys has called us there."

"Shouldn't you be outside the castle with the other Unsullied?"

The man didn't flinch. "She placed us up here for extra protection."

_Oh_ , he realized.  _Our queen doesn't trust the North._ It wasn't new information to him, but Tyrion was just beginning to realize the extent of her fears. As soon as silence passed between them, Grey Worm marched off with the rest of the Unsullied. Curious, Tyrion followed with short steps, breaking into a jog to keep up with the soldiers.

The group marched through Winterfell until they arrived at Hunter's Gate, where Tyrion watched as women shielded their children away from the soldiers and guards raised their weapons just a bit as the Unsullied marched by. Whether it was from Sansa, or just their own anxieties, the men and women of the North certainly feared Daenerys.

They passed the gate, maneuvering through tents and fires towards a line of arranged Unsullied guards. Grey Worm shouted a Valyrian command, and the soldiers lifted their spears to allow them to pass. They looked into the distance, Tyrion squinting his eyes in attempts to better see the supposed enemy. To his dismay, he saw nothing but a grey mesh slowly hobbling towards them.

"What is that?" he remarked aloud. Grey Worm glanced down at him but did not reply. He, too, seemed to struggle at determining what the creature was. It's pace started out slow, but suddenly it seemed to gain speed, charging at them. Tyrion bristled as soon as it passed the trees in the distance.  _A stray wight._

"Jemel ovadá he ji ghamvaz!" Grey Worm commanded in Valyrian. Tyrion was luckily able to translate it.  _Stand your ground._ The troop of Unsullied lifted their spears as the creature came closer, charging forward with a visible sword in its hand. The wight seemed mostly bone as it got closer, with dirty, maggot-infested boots leaving prints on the snow behind its steps.

It finally was getting closer, and Tyrion pushed himself behind Grey Worm. The Unsullied kept their positions, and when Tyrion cowered down and closed his eyes he heard a piercing scream. His ears started to ring, but when he opened his eyes there the wight was, merely a pile of bones on the ground. The soldier's spear that had pierced through the creature was laced with dragonglass, luckily being made already while the northern soldiers waited on weapons to be forged.

Tyrion walked over to examine the bones as Grey Worm commanded his Unsullied to keep watching. When he bent down, touching the objects, they felt cold. Chills ran up his arms, but it wasn't just due to the touch. He realized why the creature came.

"Find our queen," he commanded, lifting his head towards Grey Worm. "Jon, too. They need to see this."

Underneath the mess of bones, Tyrion found the skull of the wight. Carved into it was the symbol of the Old Gods, a face like that on a heart tree in a godswood, and trailing down from the eyes came a blue liquid, pale as frost and emitting the strongest cold he had ever felt before.


	3. DAENERYS I

A warm fire burned on one side of her room, with Dany sitting across from it quietly. A low rasp came at her door and her fingers laced over her belly. "My lady," a voice called. She didn't turn, acknowledging the presence to be one of the northern maesters.

"Come in." Dany heard the sound of the door shut closed, and only moved when the sound of chains rang loudly in her ears. "Thank you for coming to see me."

The maester was confused. She only just noticed the book he held in his hands once he placed it down on the table.  _An Archmaester's Collection of All Known Diseases and Illnesses of Westeros._ Dany shifted in her seat. "What were your symptoms again?"

"Stomach pains," she muttered while running her along the skin of her stomach. She could feel a tight knot. "Vomiting and diarrhea."

"Perhaps you have the bloody flux," the maester responded solemnly. "The pale mare is quite unpredictable, especially in the North. You're not used to our climate."

Daenerys shook her head. "I don't think I have that. What are others?"

Flipping through the book, he mumbled out, "No... No..."

While she waited, Daenerys felt a sharp jab into her stomach. In a moment of pain, she bent forward and placed her arm over her belly while the pain began to subside. The maester tensed as he watched her, slowly closing the book. "Was that the pain in your stomach?"

"Along those lines," she breathed, still somewhat shaking from the pain.

"You don't have a disease, then." The maester bent down so he was at the level of her belly. "You're pregnant, I believe."

_No,_ she thought sadly.  _That's not possible for me._ "I have been told I cannot bear children, maester. Is there anything else that is possible?"

Dany could hear the chains on the man's neck ring against each other as he turned his back on her and moved towards her door. "I don't know of anything else it could be. My best advice for you, my lady." He paused, turning his head slightly. "Apologies, Your Grace, is to wait it out. If the symptoms go away on their own, then it was nothing. If they get worse or change, then I can determine an illness."

"And if none of those?"

"Well," the maester replied as he pressed his hand to the handle on the door, "then perhaps you are pregnant after all." With one last dip of his head, the bearded man exited her room. Daenerys touched a hand to her belly, her eyes watching the hearth that burned in front of her. The flames crackled and small sparks jumped out at her. She held no fear.  _A dragon has no fear of fire._

If she were to be pregnant, Dany realized it would have had to be Jon's baby. Drogo was long dead, and although she had a relationship with Daario nothing came out of it. He was the most recent, and the baby would have to be his. Though she felt nervous at the thought of a child growing in her belly, Jon was the right person to be by her side. He was gentle, kind, loving, the opposite of her cruel brother Viserys.

A quick rasp at her door made Daenerys turn her head sharply. "Who is it?" she questioned, just loud enough for her voice to be heard outside the room.

"Missandei, my queen." Hearing the voice of her most trusted ally made her sigh in relief, tension releasing from her shoulders that she hadn't even realized was there before. Without hearing a denial of her entrance, Dany heard the door open and close quickly. "I saw one of the Northern maesters exit your room. Is everything alright?"

"Sit." Daenerys beckoned her arm towards a chair opposite her own, and Missandei obliged. While taking a seat, she gazed at the new outfit that donned her figure. Black furs spanned from shoulder-to-shoulder, covering the uppermost parts of her arm. On her right side, she wore a pin of gold that showed three dragon heads in a circular pattern, representing the Targaryen sigil. Her clothes themselves were black in color, much darker than the yellow and blue she wore in Meereen and Astapor. It was strange to see her wearing such darkness, but it matched her hair well. "You are my closest ally, my best friend. I can trust you with a secret you must not tell anyone, yes?"

There was no hesitance Dany could read from Missandei's eyes. "Of course."

Daenerys nodded. "Good, because this is something you cannot share. Not even with Grey Worm, understood?" Her advisor nodded, eyebrows quirking up in interest. She was trying to stall as long as she could, but as a lump formed in her throat Dany knew she had to get the secret off her chest. "I fear I may be with a child."

"A child?" Missandei's voice was low, almost a whisper. "But you once told me-"

"I know." She drew a hand around her belly, and Dany wasn't sure if the feeling that was there was just extra weight from overeating in the North, or really another being living inside her. "The witch that told me must have been wrong."

Her friend remained quiet for a moment, she's cast down at her own lap to process the thoughts that ran through her mind. "The child is Jon's then." Dany wasn't sure how she knew, but Missandei had her ways. In response to the claim, she nodded. Her advisor's mouth curled into a small smile. "I had a feeling."

"You didn't," Daenerys retorted with a playful grin forming on her face. "You couldn't have."

"I saw the way he looked at you, and you looked at him." Missandei was acting smug. Daenerys knew she had to get her back.

"It was the same way I saw you look at Grey Worm. Where were you two today, by the way? You left after we arrived and I haven't seen you both since."

Her advisor stiffened. "I was in the library."

"The  _library_?" A sly grin curled onto Daenerys's face. "That's strange. When I walked by the halls I saw your door closed and could hear some... interesting noises. I'm sure your reading was quite fun."

Missandei flushed red and her mouth opened in a slight gasp. Dany let out a soft chime of laughter, Missandei soon following with her own tense giggles. It soon became a fit between the two of them, with both their heads tilting back against their chairs. Talking so openly with someone was nice, and Daenerys was quite thankful for having Missandei in her life. She let her eyes close for a brief moment, and a feeling of delight overcame her.

Their moment came to a close, however, as Missandei's laughter dissipated. "My queen, if I may..." Dany's eyes opened, her head bending forwards in a slight and slow nod. Her advisor glanced to her left, her gaze sad. "The North is a pleasant place for many, but Grey Worm and I are having second thoughts about our arrival."

"Why so?" The Dragon Queen was concerned for her friend and grabbed her hands.

"I've always feared they hold strong pride in their home, and it seems to be true. We are Essosi, Grey Worm and I. They can see this." Her eyes were becoming glassy as she spoke, though no tears dared to spill. "I've been spat at by children, or some have scurried away from me. We don't feel welcome."

Daenerys was taken aback by Missandei's comments. She  _had_ seen the Northern children scared of her soldiers, but she only assumed it was due to their long spears and threatening shields. Perhaps there was more to it. "You are free to leave whenever you'd like," she spoke sadly, "but do know that I value your knowledge and advice. When I take the throne, you wouldn't just be my handmaiden. You'd be my Master of Law."

Missandei gave her a smile, though a quizzical look rested in her eyes. "Is that a position under the King? Where did you hear of this?"

"My brother used to fantasize his reign with Magister Illyrio." Daenerys had once told her advisor all about her life before Khal Drogo and the Dothraki, and she hoped Missandei remembered. "Viserys promised Illyrio he would be the Master of Laws, and when I asked him about the position he claimed he did not want it but explained the role to me anyways."

"What does it entail?" her friend questioned with such naïvety in her voice, and Dany frowned at it sadly.

"You will be my chief advisor in law, handling justice and administration policies. I trust you, Missandei of Naath."

There was a strange, almost tense look on her friend's face. "That is a... wonderful offer, my queen." A smile rose to her face, but Dany could see it was forced. "I thank you for it."

It was hard for Daenerys to form words. She wasn't choked up, or even feeling much at the moment, but something made her think about what Missandei had said of the North.  _They hold such pride in their home_. A sharp chill ran down her arms, making bumps appear under her robes. With a soft squeeze of her hands, Daenerys let go of her friend.

She was surprised to hear another rasp on the door. It was strange so many people were desiring to speak with her. "Who is it?"

"Jon." Dany stiffened, and Missandei looked over nervously. Something in her belly stirred, and she wasn't sure if it was the child she bore, or her own emotions writhing to try escaping her body. "And Arya."

She was confused hearing the name of his younger sister but thought the extra company would allow her to stray away from the topic of children. "Come in." In the other chair, Daenerys saw her friend stand up out of the corner of her eye. "You can stay."

"I must find Grey Worm," she stated, "and I believe it's best to give you space." She watched the door open quickly, revealing the two Starks, and with a brief nod took her leave. Dany watched her robe trail away from the doorway until it disappeared from her sight. Finally, she looked towards Jon, eyes falling suddenly to meet Arya.

The little woman looked ferocious, reminding her ever so slightly of Viserys. A fire burned in her eyes, but it wasn't angry like her brother's, envious, or vengeful. It was burning for freedom, for loyalty, for courage. The small sword at her side made Dany instinctively wrap her cold arms around her belly, attempting to hide whatever she could.

"My sister apologizes for not being able to meet you earlier," Jon spoke. He made his way towards the chair Missandei sat in formerly, allowing Arya to swiftly take a place by his left side. "She was looking for us while we rode through the winter town and got lost on her return."

Dany smiled, glancing over at the girl once more. A brief flash of concern moved over her face, she could tell, as the skin crinkled under her eyes. "It's quite alright. Your brother has told me so much about you. He missed you quite a bit."

"I missed him as well." Daenerys did not expect her voice to be as it was, being more feminine than she'd thought. With her attitude, she expected something gruffer. "The Old Gods willed us to see each other again."

"I'm sure they have." Religion never was something Dany looked upon as a special thing in her life. Perhaps she was just too busy with her own goals, but if she were to choose something to believe in, the Lord of Light had been what she'd seen the most of in Essos. "Is that all you came to say?" She looked towards Jon, raising an eyebrow curiously.

The man frowned. "I just wanted her to meet with you before the Night King arrives. Make sure you two trust each other, and all." Something in his voice seemed more directed towards his sister than herself, and she leaned back in her seat slightly. Daenerys was starting to feel uncomfortable after sitting for so long. "Hopefully that can happen."

"Is there something you'd like to know about me?" she asked Jon's sister. "Or my ambitions? I'd be happy to discuss with you if it makes you feel any better about me."

Arya's hands seemed to dart from her sides to her back like a forcefully managed reflex. "What are your plans once you take the throne? Do you have any ideas for how you'll keep the kingdoms in order, positions on your small council?" She seemed to know quite a bit about Westerosi politics, which made Dany taken aback.

"I do have some thoughts," she admitted, "on the members of my small council. Obviously, I already have a Hand."  _Though admittedly not a good one._ "As for the kingdoms, I will make sure they agree with my rule."

"And if they don't?" Dany flinched at the girl's words.

"If the lords and ladies of Westeros don't accept my rule right away, I'll make them accept it through other means."

Arya remained still. "Which are?"

"My dragons seem to inspire fear wherever they travel. No blood needs to be shed if it doesn't have to be, but often times your lords are too stubborn to bend the knee."

It seemed both women had the idea of looking towards Jon, hoping they could each gain his support. On one hand, he and Dany were linked romantically. On the other, he and Arya were close siblings who always backed each other when times were tough. "Our queen will do everything in her power to prevent bloodshed," he nearly sighed, turning towards Arya. "Trust her on this, Arya."

The girl seemed wary. She didn't nod, nor did she tear her eyes away from Daenerys as she spoke. "My sister was right," she said, though neither she nor Jon knew about what. With one sharp turn, it took her very few steps to leave the room and whisk out the door.

The wind followed the girl as if she controlled it, and Dany thought for a moment on Jon's sister. She'd seen how fire and wind matched each other, fueled each other as her dragons burnt down the Lannister forces. It helped her. There was only a sliver of hope in her, however, that Arya, the wind of the wolves, would ever fuel her goals.

_Irony works wonders_ , she thought as her eyes lingered at the doorway.  _The fire and the wind are so similar, so powerful, yet both are kept away from each other. We are too powerful for others to contain._


End file.
